Bluer Sky
by Poptart Demon
Summary: Pressing against the invisible threads that hold her, what can she do but look up to a bluer sky?
1. Golden Sand

It's not so hard a concept; the road rumbling beneath her wheels, miles of unseen scenery passing by on all sides, yet she gave them no thought because all thoughts were concentrated on the process of non-thought, of unseeing, unthinking, unfeeling operation. Perhaps it had to do with what her mind wished to meander to, or perhaps it was something else entirely that she was just too tired to see clearly. She had been traveling more or less nonstop. As she had done before.

How was it she had ended up traveling again? Oh, the usual, she supposed; Remy running off to do… whatever it was Remy did. She didn't ask too many questions, as if some silent agreement had been reached. I won't ask you, you don't ask me; we'll keep our secrets. They met for some things, for the comfort of familiar, human touch, for the comfort of the closest thing they really had for home. Then again, she couldn't speak for him.

She pulled over to rub her eyes, stretch her limbs, breathe in the familiar air of the road, and to take a deep and mighty swig of water. Her throat was parched and her lips nearly cracked and dry. She rolled lip balm over, feeling the odd waxy feel that it provided, as if her lips couldn't touch properly, before she capped it and shoved it away again. The first three days away were the hardest, she'd come to realize, and then she could begin to numb the voices that lay in that part of her mind and concentrate on whatever her task was. Her brain was only barely functioning; heart keep beating, lungs keep breathing, eyes continue seeing, but only to keep alive. She wanted no more than that, lest she go insane with the repetition of it all. The two had spent a successful few months in peace, but it was only a matter of time before they had to separate. They both were too prickly of characters to really work together for terribly long in any semblance of peace and prosperity, like a "real" and "good" couple. What was real, good, normal anyway? Everybody was different, that was normal. She tugged at the gloves on her hands, stretching her fingers beneath the leather. She'd come to have a more or less good grasp on her powers, but uncertainty in her head and in her being made her not have proper concentration to maintain, and thus the gloves were a precautionary measure.

She sat side-saddle on the seat, letting herself absorb her surroundings for a few minutes, instead of being blind, deaf, mute, dumb again. Golden hard earth stretched out for as far as she could see, the only interruption being the road she was traveling on, with it's harsh black and the faded, dusty white lines. The occasional twiggy plant attempted to force it's way up from the ground, cracking it in its feeble attempt, before drying and dying brown and wasted upon the unforgiving earth. She hadn't seen any others travelers recently, which left the wind and the pressing silence as her only real company, which wasn't all that good of company at all. Made her feel actually lonely, something she hadn't felt until she'd really paid attention to just how isolated she was. She wrapped her arms around herself, looking up at the sky. No clouds hovered anywhere, the sun high and hot above. Sweat trickled down her spine, gathering at the base, and puddling to lower things still. She squirmed against the feeling, the slight breeze reaching up the sleeves of her leather jacket and making her shiver.

She unzipped the jacket and fanned it open and close, letting the breeze in to cool. The sweat gelled, even in the heat, just making her clammy instead of cool. She scowled, full lips tightening to a thin, angry line. Her brows furrowed deeply, nearly meeting in the center of her forehead, eyes stormy beneath them. She hated feeling clammy, but she seemed to often. Training, travelling, him in general... she got clammy often. She wanted a shower, but she had miles to go before then.

She must look odd, she realized, standing almost still on the side of the road, like a lost child. How long had she been standing there, looking at nothing? And why? She realized it didn't matter; it wouldn't either way, but no one was watching. A mixed blessing, she supposed, because if someone had been, then maybe she could have company. But there was no one. She slid the helmet back on, feeling the world close off from her, and grateful for her facelessness, then tossed one leg back over the seat, feeling her body meld again to leather and metal. With a growl, her beast was off, racing down the long and empty road.


	2. Lonely Road

Off in the distance, she could see the outline of a building. Faint, wavering in the residual heat, but certainly there. As it drew closer, she could see the gas pumps like bulky debris, the building bleached and dusted until every surface seemed to be one color, only hints of the true underneath layers and layers of grime. Night was descending like a veil, for now the mixture of dust and sun making it seem like neither had a beginning or end; the earth fell into the sky without stop. Her bike seemed too loud as she pulled up before a pump, glancing about as she shook her hair free from the helmet. Sweat gelled the locks into stiff waves and kinks, and she ran a hand through them experimentally. The hand caught and the hair pulled, so she released it with a face. Her eyes remained cool, as if they weren't really seeing anything, just making sure her body didn't run into anything or tripping or hurting herself.

Having her mind so occupied (or unoccupied, really) allowed her to see things differently. She could only compare it to tunnel vision, except she was at the end of the tunnel. An older man, his hair gray and dusty as all else, came out wiping his hands. His coveralls were denim, faded so severely she could only guess what color they had been years before, and the knees thin enough they ought to have ripped through, but didn't. His wide, gray eyes looked at her curiously; not often city folk, especially any _odd_ city folk drove around here, evidently.

"Can I help ya, miss?" She wanted to correct the miss; it was wrong. But she didn't.

"Fill 'er up, please." She murmured, walking inside. She ought to eat, she supposed, but her stomach wasn't wishing for it, despite the fact she practically feel the tumbleweeds rolling around in her belly. She picked up a sandwich and chips anyway, along with a pop for later. She debated on a cookie, then decided not. When he came back in, she tugged out her wallet and paid. She considered leaving already, but decided not. She pulled the bike closer to the storefront, and sat. He joined her.

The plastic crinkled and stuck softly as she unwrapped the sandwish, biting into it. Bits of meat and such filled her mouth, the bread this side of soggy, but for now just gummy. Didn't matter; like the motorcyle with it's gas, it was just fuel. The man was silent, sitting outside the range; far enough not to invade her space, close enough that they could initiate interaction, far enough she could make the choice without feeling guilty.

"Get any business 'round here?" She inquired, before taking another bite. He shrugged.

"Nuff to get by, I s'pose." He flashed a smile, and it was one of those good ole boy smiles that just made you feel friendly and warm down to your toes. "Maybe not a lot of business, but 'nuff to keep us happy." He relaxed against the back of his chair. "Travel a lot?"

She almost said no, but considering... "More n' ah'd like." She admitted, taking out the pop now and taking a deep, bubbly swig. It ticked down her throat, washing the gummy white bread away.

"Well, that's a downright shame." He replied sympathetically, patting one of his large, fuzzy hands against her little ones, making the sandwich shake with each touch. She smiled a little, finishing it off, and forcing it down with the bottled bubbles of caffeine. "Seem's like a pretty girl like you shouldn't hafta travel 'round more than she has want to."

"Maybe," she conceded. "but it ain't all bad. Ah meet nice folk like ya." He beamed.

"Name's Joseph, but you can jus' call me Jo." She paused for a moment, considering.

"Mine's Marie. Ya're real kind, Jo." He laughed, a full and jovial sound, one she liked immediately.

"Well, you're awful kind yoursel', Marie. It gets pretty lonely out here. Not borin', mind, but lonely."

"Ya don't go nobody to talk to?" He shrugged.

"Got my boy back home, and a little beast that thinks it's a dog." He smiled. "Lonely in the day, but I've got me plenty of company at night." He thought. Then he sighed, standing up. "Well, I've got to get back. Boxes out back I gotta bring in. It was nice talkin' to you, Marie." He walked out back, and she sat for several long moments before standing, following. He grunted to pick up a box of supplies for the little store, and she caught the edge, helping him lift it. She could carry it on her own, but she hadn't bothered with the streak; she didn't need any more obvious signs of what she was. He glanced up, then smiled. "Now, what do you think you're doin'?"

"Helpin' ya, Jo. Least ah can do." He grinned; it made him seem many years younger than he was. Together, they brought everything in, locking it up in storage. It was dark by then, the moon bloated and bright in the velvet sky, the stars a smattering of shining powdered sugar. Jo wiped his brow with a cloth, tucking it back in his pocket.

"Thank you kindly, Marie." He said, face honest and good. She liked him a lot. But she had to go; she was already later than she'd planned. He seemed to sense it. "Hey, why don't you just come on over t'night? We ain't eaten dinner yet, and the boys and I could sure use a little female company." He winked, but it wasn't flirtatious, just kind. She considered, but the decision was more or less made.

"Ah'd love t'." She picked up her stuff, tucking them away in her little bag, adjusting herself as he locked up, comfortable back on the seat. He pulled up in a truck, making sure she was ready to follow before he headed down the long and lonesome road again, only not quite so lonesome.


	3. Author Note

Author's note:

GODS! I am so sorry everyone! The last part of school was completely crazy, and I've spent the first few days of summer recharging. But I promise I'm back, and you should have a new chapter within a few days!

Thanks you always for reading and being patient with me!

Blessed Be,

-Poptart Demon


	4. Clean Sheets

She kept close behind the mechanical beast that was Jo's truck, her own purring beneath her and whining with the urge to speed past and throw herself into the wind. The house was a cozy little home, the chimney like a long, lone tower, slightly crooked, and empty looking. Wood lined the rest of the house, making it seem warm to the night chill, and she hesitated before pulling up on the side. She didn't want to go in, she realized, no part of her wanted to. Jo stuck a thick leg out of his truck, hopping down.

"Well," he said, putting his meaty hands in his pockets. "home." She tugged off her helmet, and he caught the look. "You look about the way a rabbit does in front of a coyote." He commented and she swallowed.

"Feelin' that way, give or take," she murmured.

"Come in afore ya bolt." He said and she found herself following. Despite the vague waft of food that he produced, she only picked at the stuff before forcing a smile. "Marie," he finally sighed, pushing away his plate. "what is it that's got ya so damned spooked?"

"Spooked?" She repeated, brows furrowing over her eyes. She eventually shook her head. "Not... not spooked." She murmured. "Just uneased?" She wasn't sure that was even a word.

"Alright then." He replied, resting his arms on the table. "What's got ya so off balance?" She rested her head then and he laughed. "Not a good subject then?" The groan as reply was enough hint for him. "Fine, no talkin'. Off to bed with ya. Ya must be exhausted." God, he was too kind in that moment. Bed was a good idea. She stood, stealing the dishes before he could argue; that much she could do. Rinsed, dried, and away, he led her to the guest room, where she promptly fell into the bed.

But she found herself unable to sleep in the foreign covers, staring at the slow-turning fan above her. She could stay here, she thought in her sleeplessness. Keep Joseph company, help him work, keep the shop running, spend her time here in this peaceful, perfect seclusion. She was too hot with the sheet on; off they went. Joseph was kind, she thought. She hadn't always had the best of luck with Josephs or Jos, but he was good. But what about everything else, everyone else? What about Logan and Ororo and Bobby and... and Remy? She was too cold with the sheet on; on they went. God, she wanted someone to hold her as tight as the covers were. No, she wanted **him** to hold her a tight as the covers were. She hadn't had that thought since she'd set out three months ago. Things were too much like before; was she running and hiding, or was she trying to find something? She didn't even know, but the miles beneath her were the only thing that seemed to soothe. But she'd, again, so carefully not thought of him. She was too hot with the sheet on; off they went. Remy would never be there whenever she needed him because that simply wasn't the way he was. He wandered, off and away and home again when it was convenient, when maybe, just maybe, he missed her perfume just too much for safety. But perfume could be bought, put on another body, I love you could be lied, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She was too cold with the sheet off; on they went.

The fan kept rotating with a low, steady thrum over her head, the white noise doing anything but calming her. Cold, hot, cold, hot, she tossed and turned, forcing her eyes shut, trying to force her mind to slow, to turn off, to go to sleep along with the rest of her, but she couldn't. She sat up, pushing herself away from the bed and it's clammy covers. She was so tired of sheets that smelled like other people. Tired of hotels and one night at a time with his smoky-sweet breath at her ear and clammy sheets that smelled like a woman the night before or hours before or the next day. She tugged her jeans on, finger combing her hair back and tying it there. She felt so wrong, so guilty leaving now, but she couldn't stay. The streets were singing soft night songs into her ears. She threw her things back into her pack, pulling her jacket on and then slinging the pack over her shoulder. Should she leave a note? Money? Something, she was sure, she couldn't just go...

She found a napkin, whacking a pen until it wrote, and scribbled his name across the top. What else could she say? She didn't understand why she was leaving now! She lay her head against the counter, putting words as they came to her, crossing others out. In the end, it was short, simple, pathetic.

_Jo-_

_Can't stay. Sorry. -M_

Informal and tiny and so little, but she left it there where he would find it in the morn and pushed open the door, closing it behind, throwing one leg over the bike as the helmet slid on. This was home now. She understood, in a way, why Remy might always be on the move. Inside her own private world, hidden behind the visor, rumbling across the world; this was home.

She glanced back, the dark round figure in the window watching. Too little, too late, too far. She revved, and tore away into the darkened morning.


	5. Saved Again

The first in a string of dreams she'd come to have. Walking down darkened corridors of the mansion, sometimes in the usually-bright streets of New Orleans, or nowhere she could define at all. Usually feeling lost. Usually cold. Always alone as she moved, barefoot and huddled in her clothes. The gloves were always on, and she never understood why, always ripping them off the moment he came into her view, smirking like the madman he was, always she threw her arms around him, and all the feelings, all the things she felt that were stowed and simmering inside her, exploding into her hands.

She wanted to love him, hate him, kiss him, kill him, something, anything to be rid of all the excess in her.

She watched him die every night, things she would never know filling her head, deeds unsaid and never undone, just like the one she had just done herself.

Another night she gasped herself awake, cheeks already wet as she shook, closing her arms about her in the motel sheets that still smelled faintly of the last person to sleep here despite the laundering. She wiped the tears from her face, sniffling unhappily as she got up, turning the knobs on the shower like it was a habit, and it startled her to realize it was. Weeks straight she'd had the dreams, all different and so similar and always ending the same way.

Was it some sort of sign? Was she doomed to suck the life from his very bones? Was she supposed to?

Another night she'd shake her head, tell herself she was stupid as she pulled the clammy cloth from her body, tossing it on the floor and stepping into water that she always turned to hot enough to make her flush under the heat. She would scrub herself all over, at first until she had bled, but with each night learning how hard was hard enough because it was never hard enough to get rid of the film of filth that covered her simply by having such a dream.

What scared her most was how much she enjoyed it.

Another night spent on the edge of the bed, watching through the dirty window with a cigarette burning away in her fingers, smoke trailing from her lips until the sun was up, and she would eat something, pay, leave in a roar of her engine, trying to outrun the place that looked like all the others, that was just as haunted as every other room she'd stay in.

She laughed at how outrageous she was being; this wasn't the kind of thoughts she had! This wasn't her, this wasn't... right. She let the water wash over her, dripping down her face that she didn't bother wiping away until it ran into her eyes and she hissed a little, blinking and grabbing her towel, scrubbing it away as it burned faintly, before sighing and shutting the water off. Her mind couldn't focus on any one thing; one moment she'd be considering the water drops on her back, which kind of tickle as they slid down. And then, the next moment was to the thought of that light in her window that was so far away, and wondering what it was. Then to the low rumble of her stomach. Then to wondering what Logan was doing. She swallowed, forcing focus to dry off, but not bothering to dress, just sit on the bed with her towel and contemplate... nothing in particular. It was late, but she wanted company.

But hadn't she just left company a few days before? She smiled, humorless in that, as she lay back, letting the drops air dry against her skin. Yes, because she hadn't wanted it then. But who now? It was, what, three, four in the morning? Nobody respectable would be awake. She knew one person she could call, one who could possibly cure all her needs, at least until the morning. At least until he left her again, or she left, because both knew neither could stay. Not now, not yet. Too much, too long, too far gone, too little, too late, too... everything. She closed her eyes tight, breathing deeply against the ache that rose in her then, something between longing and sadness and confusion and... it was gone as her mind turned away again, finding another to think about.

There was someone else who could cure her lonliness. One, at least, and maybe one who could save her from herself until she could stand again, one who could guide her away from the spiral she knew she was travelling down again. She swallowed, tugging her phone from her bag, scrolling, pushing send and listening to the phone ring. Two rings. Three. Four.

"Hello?" His gruff, sleepy voice, despite the grumpiness she heard, was welcomed.

"Hi Logan." Silence for a long moment.

"How are you, kid?" She smiled.


	6. Author's Note: It's Been Years!

Author's Note: Not sure if anyone who might still be around will see the updated profile, BUT! I have returned! I'm not really sure why I left about four years ago, at the end of "Nightingale" and the start of "Bluer Sky." I know I had some life-changing events happen, and my computer got murdered, and we moved, but I know I disappeared all this time and just stumbled over my account. I DO intend to continue/complete "Bluer Sky," and work on some new things. Not sure if anyone who ever read my work is still about, but I felt that, if any of you are still around, I owed you a proper apology, and this seemed the best way to go about that.

Ever your's, and once more, with feeling!

- Poptart Demon


End file.
